


Strangers

by whorror_jpeg



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Needs Love, F/M, Parental Abuse, billy hargrove - Freeform, diner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 16:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15123185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorror_jpeg/pseuds/whorror_jpeg
Summary: the reader meets a boy with seemingly common problems





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader
> 
> Prompts: none
> 
> Song: Daddy Issues- The Neighbourhood
> 
> Request: nah, I just like boys with pretty blue eyes
> 
> Requests Are: Open
> 
> Warning(s): abuse mentions, death of family members, family break ups, slight angst, cursing. This one might hit close to home for some.
> 
> Word count: 1.1k
> 
> Author’s note: i might make this one into a multi-parter!

You were walking down the street, not wanting to be anywhere near your dad. The blowout fights were getting worse as if they weren’t already bad enough. But you could stand it. You promised the second he laid a hand on you, you’d leave. But the both of you were stressed, you understood that what you didn’t understand was the way the both of you were coping with it.

You found yourself at a small diner, walked in, ordered some pumpkin pie, and waited, playing aimlessly with the foggy window.

A boy slid in the booth in front of you, his back to you, but you could tell he was upset. You decided to not intervene, he needed space, just like you. When the waitress comes back with your pie, you ask her to send the boy in front of you a milkshake in an attempt to make him feel better. At this point he was breathing unsteadily, his head in his hands. The waitress kindly nods and goes to the side of the restaurant and makes the milkshake, then gives it to the poor boy in front of you. You watch him look at it, then back up to the waitress.

“I didn’t order anything.” he asks, voice gruff from the cigarette he was smoking. The waitress explains it was prepaid for him and smiles before walks away.

You wait some amount of time after eating your dessert, watching him gingerly drink his milkshake, before deciding to actually get up and sit across the boy.

And that’s when you realized.

This poor boy got the living shit beat out of him. A blue bruise adorned his jaw, his lip was split open, his cheekbone was brown from a nearly done healing bruise. He’d already cleaned up enough to make himself presentable. When he looked at you, you noticed his eyes were red from bottled emotions and contemplation.

“I hope you like chocolate. It’s been my favorite since I was little.” you said quietly, looking down at your hands instead of his face, not wanting him to be self-conscious.

He stared quietly at you before speaking up, “You go to Hawkins.”

It was a statement, he’d seen you before. But you hadn’t seen him, somehow. You didn’t know how you hadn’t; he was certainly handsome, a ladies man, a guy other loud people liked to hang out with. You looked up and nodded. He reached his hand forward to shake your hand, which you accepted.

“The name’s Billy. Pleased to meet you.”

“(Y/N).”

“What brings you here? Buying a guy a milkshake, sitting down in his booth?”

“I hope you don’t mind,” you began, joking halfway. “A fight.” you finally stated, looking at his hands, which were fiddling with a new unlit cigarette.

“Me too… if you couldn’t tell.” he tried cracking a joke, his split lip making it impossible for him to smile, but he did anyway; he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. You looked at the time. It was only 9:30, you could still hang out, but you’d rather it not be in a stuffy diner, as nice as it was. He had just finished his milkshake anyway.

“Walk with me.” you said, getting out of the booth. He obliged, standing up and lighting another cigarette outside, asking if you wanted one, which you kindly declined, but said you’d share one with him instead. There was a silence between the both of you, comfortable, but fragile. The both of you radiated bottled feelings that wanted to be let out. Your head swooned with the nicotine as you passed Billy his much shorter cigarette and coughed. You stopped walking, sitting on the curb of the sidewalk, Billy following suit.

“Can I open up to a stranger?” He asked, not looking at you.

“Only if I can, too.” you said, also not looking at him. It’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s that you were worried he’d break down. And he did. He told you of how his dad treats him, and how he takes it out on his stepsister, but he really does love her, and how much he misses his mom.

“Where’s your mom at?” you asked gingerly, looking at the crying boy who angrily wiped away his tears. You wouldn’t have stopped him, he wasn’t someone used to opening themselves up.

He chuckled sardonically, “In a cemetery upstate California.”

You almost seethed, “What happened?”

“Car accident while I was driving. Driver’s side was hit by a drunk driver.” his voice was monotonous, but he hadn’t told anyone this, you could tell, but he’d practiced it.

You looked at him, “Do you blame yourself?”

He looked at you in the eyes. “Yes.”

You took his hand and looked forward while he intertwined your fingers, another thing you could tell he hadn’t done. He didn’t look the romantic type, but he craved love.

You told him about how your mom had left your dad, how he’d take it out on you, how he’d lost his job so you started keeping up with two jobs and school all at once. Billy was rubbing your knuckles gently. You noticed his knuckles matched yours, the same bruised expressions from either punching something or someone.

“Guess we’re both a little fucked, hm?” he nudged you with his shoulder, you nodding.

“Got the time?” you asked. He looked at his watch, telling you it was nearing 10:30. “I gotta get home.” You stated, standing up, Billy losing the hold of your hand, looking almost lost when it happened. He pouted slightly.

“I’ll walk you.”

The two of you talked a bit, back and forth, before he walked you up your front porch.

“So, (Y/N), are we still strangers?” he asked, head down, eyes up.

“We’re strange people. But I’d like to be more than strangers.”

He smiled, training his eyes down. You took the opportunity to kiss his cheek and hug him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

He hugged back, an arm around your shoulder, another the back of your head, swaying you a little while resting his chin on top of your head, “Don’t be a stranger, (Y/N).”

“Only if you won’t.” You let go of him, going to your door, watching him leave through the window, only after you closed it.


End file.
